Risen Page 5

  I pull up my login screen as Ms. Gedwell approaches. She puts her glasses on and peers down at the monitor.

  “So, this is the entry portal to the site,” I say, showing her the main login page.

  I’ve put a lot of work into making a very slick design—but not TOO slick—she wouldn’t approve of anything overly flashy.

  “Mister Stevens, what’s that logo in the upper right corner stand for?”

  Jay looks at me and then back at the screen. The logo says MHSO in bright red and black school colors.

  “Ahhh—that stands for Middlebury High School,” Jay replies.

  “Online,” I finish. “Middlebury High School Online.”

  Jay grins. “What a team we make. He even finishes my sentences for me.”

  Ms. Gedwell’s lips tighten like she’s holding back the world’s nastiest burp.

  “Middlebury High School Online is basically Facebook for our school. But it’s not just a social website,” I say.

  Jay shakes his head. “No. Heck no.”

  “It’s really one-stop shopping for all your Middlebury school needs. Whether it’s asking a question of a teacher, turning in a book report, making a suggestion to the Vice Principal, or even just sending a friendly email to a classmate. MHS Online has it all.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Candice Simmons watching me attentively.

  Candice is one of the hottest—and probably meanest—girls in school. Something about the way she’s looking at me is weirding me out.

  I think she might hate me.

  “That’s a very professional presentation,” Ms. Gedwell says. “Everyone, notice how clearly and concisely Mr. Richardson states his website purpose and customer base.”

  I quickly move on. “So once you give your screen name and password, you’re in.” I quickly enter into the main site. “It’s a fairly basic layout with limited functionality at the moment,” I say.

  “Yeah, we’re planning on getting a lot more functionality on there soon,” Jay chimes in. “Lots more.”

  “Exactly,” I agree, nodding like a bobble-head doll. I use the mouse to show the main features. “Right here every student has their own mailbox which contains personal communications whether it’s from teachers, other students, or even school administration.”

  “Very nice,” Gedwell says, smiling a little despite herself.

  I point the arrow to the right of the screen where there’s a large blackboard (that took me a full day to design). “This is the “blackboard” where other school students and faculty can write public messages and so forth.”

  “Like a Facebook Wall,” Jay says. “That was my idea.”

  “That’s right, it was,” I say, shooting him a grin.

  Jay smiles triumphantly. He’s managing to catch on to what I’m explaining and add just enough that it’s possible we’ve been working together on the project.

  “And this link here,” I say, clicking on an icon that looks like a graduation cap,

  “brings you to your class list. This page is under construction but eventually it will allow each student to view their own grades and see all their test scores, what homework they owe, future assignments, that sort of thing.”

  “And we’re also planning on having a link so you can check out the schedule of the football team and get up-to-date game scores and player stats,” Jay says.

  I want to punch him for adding a ton of work to my plate, because I’d never considered having any of that stuff on the site. At least not until version 2.0 comes out.

  “This is all very impressive,” Gedwell says, adjusting her glasses. “It has the makings of a project that I’d be more than willing to show to the Principle as something to be implemented next school year. You’ve got a great talent for this work.”

  “What about me?” Jay says. “We worked on it together.”

  Gedwell turns on him. “And what exactly did you DO, Mr. Stevens, other then run that mouth of yours? As far as I can tell, it’s your little sidekick who did all the real work and innovation on this project.”

  Jay raps his knuckles on his desk. “I admit I’m more of an idea man. Kind of a big thinker. But that’s what makes me and Richardson such a great duo. Like Batman and Robin.”

  “Or Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling,” she replies.

  “Huh?”

  “You probably never heard of them, but they were the two men behind Enron, a company that had a lot of big ideas it didn’t deliver on,” Gedwell says. She looks at both of us. “Please don’t make me regret letting the two of you work together.”

  And then she moves on to the next project and the spotlight is finally off of us.

  Jay gives me a pound and a big grin. “Nice job, Richardson,” he says. “Fucking Bill Gates and shit. I always knew you were a genius.”

  “I’m not a genius.”

  But the compliment feels good nonetheless. With about ten minutes left in class, Ms. Gedwell excuses herself to go to the bathroom and tells us to keep quiet and work on our projects.

  When she leaves, Jay immediately lets out a cackle. “Spreadwell’s probably going to the bathroom to beat off over Richardson’s website.”

  “I thought you both worked on it together,” Candice Simmons says. She’s exactly what you’d expect someone with the name Candice to be. Fiery red hair, killer body, nasty temper. “But I guess you’re just trying to get away with not doing any work, as usual,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

  Jay simply grins at her. “You got a big mouth for such a little girl.”

  “And I hear you’ve got big balls for having such a little dick.”

  A few oohs and laughs from the other kids, but Jay is unfazed, as usual. “Sorry, honey. You must have me confused with your fag cousin, Nate.”

  “Try saying that to my cousin’s face and see how that goes.”

  On top of being super hot and popular and mean, Candice Simmons is Nate Diaz’s cousin.

  Jay unwraps a piece of gum. “As a matter of fact, me and my boy Richardson here just sent little Nate running with his tail between his legs. Some tough guy.”

  Don’t drag me into this, I think. I try to melt into the background.

  Candice looks momentarily surprised, but quickly recovers. “You shouldn’t even be taking this class, Stevens. Why don’t you go back to basket-weaving so you can keep playing football with your C minus talent and your D minus brains.”

  “Baby, you wish you had half my talent and brains.”

  “I’d be surprised if your IQ is bigger than your pant size,” Candice says, “but you keep thinking you’re the shit, Stevens. See where it gets you.”

  “I hear ten bucks and a joint could get me pretty far with you, baby.” Jay sticks out his tongue and grins like an ape as some kids snicker appreciatively.

  Candice gives him the finger and goes back to her computer.

  Jay rolls his eyes and then slides over to my desk where I’ve gone back to work.

  “What’s that?” he says, nodding to the monitor.

  “I’m making a Javascript Alert,” I tell him, as my fingers rapidly click over the keys.

  “Tell me in plain English. I don’t speak computer geek.”

  I click over to the messaging tab. “I’m just trying to work out some of the kinks on this page. See, like here you can make an announcement and broadcast it to the whole network, or just a few select people.”

  “Really?” His eyes widen with interest and he leans forward. “Let me slide in here, I want to try something.”

  I give him the keyboard and he starts pecking at it slowly.

  He writes this:

  Candice Simmons sucked Jay Stevens dick on Friday night. She swallowed. Pics to come soon.

  Then he clicks on the BROADCAST button.

  “Come on, man,” I whisper. “What if the site was live?”

  “It’s not, though.”

  “Don’t go doing anything crazy, okay?”

  He just snickers. I
select the text and delete it.

  For a second I get this awful feeling in my stomach. Along with the sick feeling is an uneasy thought that suddenly pops in my head.

  It just so happens that Jay started being friendly to me again when we ended up in this computer class together. Is it possible that the only reason he’s being nice to me is because he knows I can help him pass the class?

  TRE (3)

  A few hours later, Jay meets up with me on my way down to the first floor for gym.

  “Come on, let’s walk together,” he says, more of a command then an invitation.

  Lately this has been happening more and more. Jay seeking me out, cracking jokes, pretending nothing’s changed. Like we’ve been friends all along and the last six years never happened.

  We’re about to head to the locker room when a couple of freshmen boys intercept us.

  The two of them look nervous. Both are shorter than me, each of them wears baggy jeans and oversized t-shirts. One is skinny, wearing glasses, while the other is kind of chubby. The chubby one gives Jay a head nod.

  Jay stares at the chubby kid with mild amusement. “You’re on the freshman squad, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I play right tackle.”

  “You guys any good this year?”

  “Not really.”

  Jay laughs. “JV is where you learn the game, no pressure little man.”

  “Hey, is it true that you knocked out Nate Diaz?” the chubby kid asks Jay.

  “The gossip mill is alive and kicking around here,” Jay says.

  “Is it true though?”

  “I didn’t knock him out.”

  “But you could, if you wanted to,” the chubby kid clarifies. “Right?”

  “I don’t know. If he gives me a reason to, we might find out sometime.”

  “Like what kind of reason?”

  Jay doesn’t answer at first, just watches them for a moment. “Is he bothering you?” Jays says, finally.

  “Not me,” the chubby kid says. “Him.” He points to the skinny kid with glasses.

  “What did he say to you?”

  The skinny one pulls on his shirt as if it’s sticking to him. “He told me he’s going to smash my stupid face in.”

  “Why did he say that?”

  The skinny kid shrugs. “Because he’s going to smash my face in?”

  “Your stupid face,” Jay corrects.

  “You probably made eye contact with him by accident,” I say. “Rule number one. Never make eye contact with a maniac.”

  “I didn’t do anything, I was just standing there and he came up to me and said it.”

  The kid is panicked, almost crying as he tells us this.

  I wonder if I had that same look of doom on my face when Nate cornered me earlier. It’s a combination of trying to appear brave while simultaneously looking like you might pee your pants at any moment.

  “Relax, son,” Jay tells the kid, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I can take care of it.”

  “I told you he’d handle it,” the chubby one says. “Stevens is the man.”

  “That brings me to my next point.” Jay’s expression turns serious. “How much is it worth to you?”

  I can tell he’s just giving them a hard time, but they seem oblivious to the joke.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how much?” Jay holds out his hand and rubs his fingers together.

  “Money talks and bullshit walks, fellas.”

  The two boys consult. Jay gives me a smile and a wink.

  The chubby kid shrugs. “I’m broke.”

  The skinny one obviously has the most at stake. He takes a deep breath. “I could get like…I don’t know…a hundred bucks?”

  Jay blinks, a little surprised. “Dude, I’m just busting chops. Relax, I don’t need your money.”

  “No, I can get it. A hundred. Is that enough?”

  “I said I don’t need your money.”

  But I can already see the wheels are turning in Jay’s head, even as he denies wanting to be compensated.

  “I want to pay you. If you’ll really tell him to leave me alone.”

  Jay leans in and whispers to me. “Should I take it?”

  I know what he wants me to say. But I can’t. Instead, I just shrug. “Your call.”

  Jay thinks for a bit. “Nate’s serious about beating you up? He probably says this crap a million times a day and then forgets about it.”

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks dude, seriously. Just tell him to bother someone else. Okay?” The skinny kid tugs on his shirt again.

  Jay snorts. “I’ll talk to him and see what I can do.”

  “I’ll give you the money after lunch,” the kid says.

  Jay just sighs, but I can tell he’s secretly happy about it. “If you insist.”

  “Promise you’ll do it?”

  Jay’s jaw tightens. “Look, I said I would, now stop pestering me or I’ll beat you up myself.”

  Both freshmen get quiet.

  Jay relents, shakes off the sudden burst of rage. “Just kidding. I wouldn’t do that.”

  They thank him and then hastily make their exit.

  Jay watches them go. “That was weird.”

  “You think he’s really going to pay you a hundo?” I say, watching as a few more kids straggle by us into the gym locker rooms.

  “Easy money if he does.“

  “It’s like he’s paying you protection money.”

  Jay gives me a sideways look. “Say that again.”

  “What?”

  “Say what you just said right there.”

  “I just—you know--“

  “Spit it out.”

  I stammer. “It kind of reminds me of paying protection money. Paying the mob to protect you or something.”

  Jay starts to smirk. The smirk widens and widens. “Richardson, you have no idea what you just said. No idea.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. What’s the big deal?”

  “You’ll see, buddy. You said a mouthful.”

  I don’t know whether to feel proud or terrified.

  ***

  Right before lunch, Jay grabs me at my locker. “That kid came through early,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I say, tossing my books inside and slamming the door shut.

  I give the combo a twist.

  “Say hello to my new best friend, Mister Grant.” Jay whips out two fifty-dollar bills and fans them in front of my face, then quickly stuffs them in his back pocket.

  “That kid actually paid you? Seriously?”

  Jay grabs me by the shoulder and starts walking me away from my locker and down the hall. “Come on, now we’re going to settle this shit with Nate.”

  I stop in my tracks. Students are walking by us, parting like the red sea. If it was anyone else but Jay Stevens standing in the center of the hall, you can bet people would be making comments, pushing us out of the way.

  “I’m not going with you,” I tell him. “Hell no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Can’t you bring Alec or Nick?”

  Jay smiles. “You’re my right hand man, though. My consigliere.”

  The consigliere is an advisor in the mafia, at least, that’s what they called Tom Hagan in the Godfather. I’m baffled as to why he’d call me his consigliere until I recall how I told Jay that this situation reminded me of people paying the mob protection money.

  Of course Jay took what I said and ran with it, twisted it into something else.

  Even when we were little he was always that way, making everything bigger and more extreme than it needed to be. Like the time I told him about this huge mansion being built on Maple Avenue, about a half mile from my house. Jay decided we should go “exploring” because we could just walk inside, there weren’t even any doors or locks or anything yet.

  Once we got inside, Jay decided simply exploring wasn’t exciting enough, and it would be awesome to start breaking all the windows and mi
rrors. He threw rocks through like five or six gigantic windows before some workers came back from lunch and nearly caught us.

  I can still remember jumping out the back entrance, stumbling down the steep hill, and running at full speed like I was about to be shot at from enemy snipers. I’d never been so scared before.

  The more things change, the more they stay the same I guess. Jay’s still as wild and unpredictable now as he was then. Only now instead of messing around in some empty construction site, he wants to mess around with Nate Diaz.

  I shake my head. “Nate already almost kicked my ass once today. I don’t want to push my luck.”

  “He’s not going to touch you, Richardson. Or anyone else I don’t want him to mess with. Nate Diaz is a loser with no balls. He wouldn’t last five minutes on the football field.”

  “This isn’t the football field. Nate Diaz fights like you run passing drills.”

  Jay grabs me again, this time harder, his hand clasping the back of my neck and squeezing. “You’re coming with me.”

  For a moment my breath catches in my chest. I remind myself that Jay’s always had a temper and he’s always been crazy. The last thing I want to do now is give him reason to hate me. “Okay, okay. Chill.”

  He loosens his grip and we start walking again. “You’ll see, Richardson, this is going to be easy.”

  Nate’s a senior, so we climb up a flight to the twelfth grade hallway. Most people have already gone to wherever they’re going, and the hall is emptying. “Maybe he’s at lunch?” I say.

  But just when we’re about to turn and leave, Nate and one of his shady friends rounds the corner and heads toward us.

  “Great, two on two,” I mutter.

  “Relax,” Jay says.

  Nate’s friend is bigger than me, with tattoos covering both his arms. He wears a black t-shirt and ripped jeans. Work boots with the laces untied. He exudes menace and violence just like Nate.

  Still, they seem prepared to walk by us, neither of them saying a word.

  And then Jay calls out to him. “Hey. Diaz.”

  “Yeah?” Nate turns with what at first glance appears to be a smile. Then I see that it’s more like a grimace, it reminds me of a dog showing its teeth before snapping.